It's Purim... Let's drink!

My dad and I have been planning on putting up crown molding in my apartment for a while now. I purchased the molding 2 years ago, and it's been in storage until we could complete other apartment projects. Today's the day we appointed to begin this new project. It also happens to be Purim.

OF COURSE, because I live in Jerusalem, something bizarre was bound to happen.

We were discussing cutting the moldings, the corner angles and which tools to use, when the doorbell rang. I went to open the door. 

Three young Orthodox men in their Purim costumes were standing there. The one who was clearly their leader walked inside, unbidden, and shook my dad's hand. 

We looked at them bemusedly. The young man standing inside my apartment was clearly shored up by liquid courage. 

"Is this where the party is?" asked the leader, the drunkest of the bunch, from inside my apartment.

Any (sober) person with functioning intellect could tell there was no celebration taking place... and that it was time to leave.

"No," we answered, "There is no party here."

"Well," he insisted, "You MUST have something to drink!" 

No. We have nothing to drink. (And even if we had, we were undesirous of contributing to his further intoxication.) 

His friends, less drunk than he, and progressively realizing that they were unwelcome, attempted to get him to leave. 

"B-b-but we heard there was a party, here on the second floor!" he cried out, as if we were trying to cheat him. "Where is the party?" 

We don't know. 

"Ok..." he relented, and then gave one last try: "Are you really sure there's nothing to drink here?" 

Finally assured that there wasn't, he left. 

My parents and I looked at one another in stunned silence. 

It took us a moment to recover.